


it's what my heart just yearns to say (in ways that can't be said)

by xXRCSovaXx



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Communication, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Nonverbal Communication, no beta we die like stregabor fucking should have, overuse of 'hmm's
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXRCSovaXx/pseuds/xXRCSovaXx
Summary: A completely self-indulgent fic.Geralt never needed to say a word for Jaskier to understand him.5 times Jaskier knew exactly what Geralt meant +1 time Geralt got his head out of his ass and actually said it.Title from The Amazing Devil's 'Fair'.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 102





	1. I'll Miss You

**Author's Note:**

> This came about after an inability to stand my parent’s failure to communicate with each other. Here’s a completely self-indulgent fic where Jaskier has an uncanny ability to know exactly what Geralt is saying, or in this case, not saying. When you know someone really well, you know enough that words are bullshit. Words can hide a lot, especially the truth. 
> 
> 5 times Jaskier knew exactly what Geralt meant +1 time Geralt got his head out of his ass and actually said it.

1: I'll miss you.

Jaskier, first and foremost, is a bard. 

Bards, whether or not they were unfeeling sons of whores like a certain pompous prick he could name (and he will, Valdo Marx will always hold a special place in his heart for being the biggest bastard he’d have the pleasure of knowing), thrive off emotion. 

They write and perform their songs by how strongly they feel, and how strongly they can make others feel, whether a filthy jig that lifts the spirit or a tender ballad to make one weep. Jaskier was a master of the seven liberal arts by Oxenfurt education, he knew emotions, he knew meaning, intent. 

If a fool was looking to a bard to hide their emotions, they’d have a better chance looking to a Witcher to rob along the road. Both situations would go horribly wrong, though one may be marginally funnier than the other.

“Geralt, the vampiress you fought in Temeria that one time, the one that took a chunk out of your leg,” Jaskier began to ask, walking at an even pace behind Roach and strumming his lute in time with his stride. “What kind of vampiress was she? I always get them mixed up. Bruxa? No no. . . what was the one that started with an N—”

“Nosferat.”

“Nosferat! Yes yes. Thank you, my dear Witcher. Although I may have to stick with the simple ‘vampiress’, I already have a rhyme for that one.” He strummed a few more chords, attempting to work out a melody. 

After a few moments of idle strumming, he figured out his problem, he was in a floral mood, not one of a powerful ballad. He would have to adapt to his mood lest the story of defeating a vampiress turns to the comparison of her beauty to a dandelion in the meadow, pretty, yet poisonous. 

He turned his attention to the man in front of him instead. He might as well attempt to talk to the man instead of dragging up past accomplishments as contracts began to dry up near the winter months. 

“Geralt, do you know how close we are to the border town to Kaedwen?” He asks, knowing he’s likely not to get an answer. He continues to prattle anyway, it’s all the same to him. “I remember there being a lot more pines whenever we’ve gotten close. I mean, perhaps this trip gets longer every year, but it feels as though I’ve been walking for ages and I’ve seen one, no, two! Two pines. Two pines Geralt! At this rate, we'll never make it to Kaedwen. . .”

Geralt, the darling man he is, even though clearly not listening in the slightest, gives a solid ‘hmmm’ in lieu of civilized conversation. 

In his eyes, Jaskier can prattle without having to think, and Geralt, sadly, doesn’t have that gift. Jaskier likes to think that he’s mature enough that he won’t outright die from the lack of full attention. 

Bards, he must admit, are whores for attention. It never bothered Jaskier, he’d always thought he was twenty ducats from a whore anyhow.

* * *

  
  


When the sun was dangerously low in the sky and the air chilled further to where he was just able to see his own breath, Geralt swung off of Roach and began to trudge into a small clearing off to the side of the path. 

Jaskier followed obediently behind, as he always did. 

They made camp within the hour, not willing to spend the last minutes of daylight idle. Jaskier didn’t have the luxury of fancy witcher eyes and therefore found it harder to collect the much needed firewood in the dark. 

Geralt took the duty of finding their dinner, returning with two small squirrels and one fluffy brown hare dangling in his grip. Jaskier had barely gotten the fire started by the time he had stepped back into the clearing. 

The small firelight bathed his golden eyes in an accompanying hue, his white hair swaying in the air like they were specks of fire themselves. Each time Jaskier looked at him in these small moments, it never failed to steal a catch of his breath. 

Gods, he wanted to compose a song solely dedicated to the man’s eyes. 

He shook himself out of staring at the man as the witcher dropped into the dirt in front of the fire. He spared the witcher a small, genuine smile before grabbing one of the squirrels and beginning to relieve the poor animal of its flesh. 

Geralt joined him, and soon, all three animals were roasting over the fire. 

“You’re quiet.” 

Geralt's voice startled him out of his near daze staring into the fire. He turned to see those amber eyes boring into him, and it was the bard in him that immediately preened at the opportunity to have the man’s focus on him. 

“ _ Quiet _ ? No good sir! You must be mistaken, as I'm sure you know, I've never been silent in my life!”

His boisterous voice felt wrong in the moment. The quiet moments, here out in the woods by the fire, with just the two of them side by side and Roach huffing behind, they didn’t need his voice filling the air. 

He’d gotten quite good at reading Geralt’s expressions over the years. From the way his brow creased and his mouth turned, he knew now that the poor bastard looked  _ concerned. _

In absence of something, probably the right words, Geralt gave his best disbelieving ‘hmmm’ and left that side of that argument well enough alone.

It was alright, Jaskier could hold a conversation for the both of them. 

“Are you excited for the winter? I can imagine seeing your brothers again is quite the boon to climbing a mountain. Although I couldn’t relate, I wouldn’t climb a molehill to see my parents.”

Maybe if he chatted away he would somehow find himself out of his suddenly morose mood.

Geralt’s lips twitched minutely, whether in a smile or frown, he couldn’t tell. 

“Yes.” He said, low and distant, near reminiscing. 

Jaskier gave another soft smile.

“I’m sure you’d much rather be hibernating in that keep of yours than ruffing it between towns,” Jaskier teased.

Geralt did frown then, considering. 

“Perhaps, before.” 

—and Jaskier had to watch his firelit eyes linger on his face before he caught the unspoken words:  _ Before you.  _

“Well.” He tried to get the words out but they caught in his throat like the witcher had stolen his breath. 

Geralt hummed low, snatching the roasting hare off of the fire. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt started but cut off.

“Yes?” he prompted, a thrum of an unknown emotion up his spine.

“Do you. . .” His brows creased, probably searching for the right words. “You winter at Oxenfurt.”

“Yes.” 

“Do you prefer. . .” Geralt failed to continue, Jaskier decided to take pity on the tongue-tied man and inferred. 

“Prefer to winter at a lively university rather than ruffing it out in the woods?” He joked, but Geralt just tilted his head away. 

“Hmmm.” His body was taut, expecting an answer. Jaskier felt it was important to give the correct one. 

“Perhaps, perhaps before.” One may call him a hypocrite because he also left the  _ ‘before you’  _ unspoken. 

Geralt didn’t do much at this proclamation other than bringing his eyes back up Jaskier’s face, lingering on his eyes, before turning away and swallowing thickly.

Jaskier understood. Geralt was a man of few words, and he didn’t need many to convey what he felt, not to Jaskier. 

No, not to Jaskier. 

* * *

  
  


It was two weeks later that they saw themselves apart. 

They had made it to northwest Kaedwen, ending in a small farming village where they would spend the night at a small inn before departing for the winter. The witcher to the old musty keep in the mountains, himself traveling back to Redania to winter at Oxenfurt. 

They were at a lovely little tavern in the center of town, and Jaskier decided to strum up a small sum of money with each strum of his lute. 

Geralt sat in a corner, drinking alone. Except, he wasn’t alone, not really. Every so often Jaskier’s eyes drifted back to his table, locking eyes with his dear witcher. He doesn’t know why, maybe looking for him to begin to enjoy listening to Jaskier play. 

He does know why, his witcher’s eyes were oh so pretty. 

But if Jaskier was going to act like the besotted fool he was, then Melitele save him, he would act like the besotted fool he was. 

“Toss a coin to your witcher—”

He glanced back to Geralt, who was scowling, gods he hated this song. Jaskier loved him all the more for it, somehow.

After fetching a pretty penny from the crowd, Jaskier’s voice began to go flat and hoarse. He collapsed in the chair next to Geralt who had the audacity to pretend as though he wasn’t watching him throughout the entire performance, the daft idiot. 

“I suppose you haven’t had supper yet.” He idly commented, bringing the witcher to focus in on him once more. 

“Hmm, no.” Geralt replied, and he seemed lost in thought, strange.

Jaskier entertained the brief thought that the witcher may not have been hungry, but threw that thought out. Who was he kidding? Geralt was always hungry.

He brought himself out of his chair and up to the counter where he ordered two bowls of stew from the kind-eyed bar hand. The woman returned a smile and nodded, he returned to his seat famished.

Geralt looked less like he was in another time when he returned, and he gave him a large grin, before opening his mouth and beginning to chatter. 

“I suppose this is our last night together for the winter. Shame. One of these years we should really winter together. You’re always welcome to stay in Oxenfurt, it is certainly not a secret like you witcher keep.” 

He could tell that Geralt was near troubled at those words, although he couldn’t seem to figure out why. Perhaps the man did want to winter with him, but couldn’t. Jaskier wouldn’t be the one to push, that's for sure. 

He decided that he would simply change the subject.

“Are we meeting in the same town for the Spring? Or I can come closer to the mountains, less of a trek for you to meet.”

Geralt, who must have been feeling very talkative tonight, deigned to respond with actual words.

“Marnmouth,” and  _ oh  _ that town was a bit closer to him actually. 

“On the border, that’s fair I suppose. Mid-Spring?” He asked, already missing his witcher, wanting to get back to him as soon as possible while not even parted yet.

Oh, how gone on this man he was. 

“I’ll be on the road as soon as the path down is clear.” Geralt's voice held a strange note, and if Jaskier didn’t know better (he didn’t), he would call it fondness.

“Eager to get back on the path?” He teased, honestly the man took his duty as a witcher so seriously Jaskier found it equally concerning as it was endearing. 

“The path, yes.” 

And yet, Jaskier let his mind infer the meaning of those words. He was a bard, he couldn’t help but notice the dispassionate tone of the words, the way Geralt frowned.

The way he seemed to say, ‘ah, sure I totally meant the path.’ 

Perhaps it was only Jaskier’s traitorous mind giving him hope, but the bard still smiled at the surly man and replied.

“Well, I’m sure the _path_ will eagerly await your return come Spring.”

And perhaps the light in the tavern was causing the man’s eyes to hold so much longing. Well, it looked like longing to Jaskier, to anyone else, it may have looked like a murderous glare. 

But not to Jaskier. 

To Jaskier, it seemed like the Witcher was trying to say  _ ‘I’ll miss you’.  _

And for Jaskier, that was enough.


	2. I Don’t Think Your Useless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt can tell Jaskier he's an idiot just fine. He finds it much harder to say that he cares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate myself for how much I wanted to write all of Geralt’s dialogue as ‘Hmm’s

Jaskier can talk. 

It might be the only thing that he’s actually good at. Putting things into words. He’s not the kind of man to hold a sword, words are his sword. This may be due to the fact that Jaskier wouldn't know what to do with a sword when given one, but he digresses. 

He knows words are powerful, he’s seen more men eaten alive by  _ words _ than monsters. But when traveling with a witcher, words seem to fail more often than not. On the path, you can’t defeat a Basilisk with a witty remark (and Jaskier would know because he tried), so he tries to make himself as useful as he can in the absence of the ability to do so. 

He tries, he really does. 

But when they make camp and all Jaskier can do is start a meager fire and perhaps skin a rabbit, he starts to feel like he can’t somehow measure up. 

He had started thinking to himself, on those bad nights, how could he dare try and travel with a witcher when he knew he would never measure up. But in the morning, he remembers that killing monsters is not what he’s  _ for.  _

His job wasn’t to protect Geralt from monsters, his job was to protect the witcher from men (who were arguably more monstrous).

He liked the idea of being useful to Geralt so much that he made it into a song, but it was so sad and self-deprecating that he knew he’d get laughed out of any tavern he performed it in. 

Thus, when he met back up with Geralt at mid-Spring in the border town of Marnmouth, he was a ball of turbulent emotions.

Not that he wasn’t always a ball of turbulent emotions, but this time it was  _ worse.  _

He offered at every corner to pay for Geralt’s things, the full room at the inn,  _ ‘I’ll get the meal tonight and you can get it next time’,  _ and the ever  _ totally  _ selfless offer to wash the man’s hair every time he’d given in to a bath.

Near each time he did this, Geralt wouldn’t pay him much mind, but after a while, Geralt would pause and say no or give a quiet  _ ‘it’s my turn’.  _

Jaskier got the distinct feeling Geralt had noticed his admittedly odd behavior, but  _ dammit  _ sometimes paying for a place for Geralt to rest his head for a night gave Jaskier some relief for feeling so  _ useless. _

—and then Geralt would do something so utterly heroic or something so selfless that all of those feelings rushed back, like a battering ram to the palace gates, and Jaskier had to do  _ something _ , something, he could somehow pay Geralt back for all the things he’d given Jaskier. 

Jaskier was a  _ bard,  _ why was this so hard!

Oh, wait, that could actually make a good lyric—

Needless to say, Jaskier was in a weird headspace. 

* * *

Finally, the events of the past two weeks on the road with Geralt consummated in something so horrible that it filled Jaskier with a bit of regret for acting so weird. 

Geralt, the poor soul, tried to  _ initiate _ a serious conversation. 

And, well, if Jaskier was bringing up limited capabilities. . .

“You. . . keep paying for things.” 

Geralt was lying beside him, the one inn they could find and it had the one room available with  _ one bed.  _ Jaskier was  _ not _ going to be the one to force a conversation when they had to be less than a foot away from each other throughout the night. 

Jaskier, thoroughly caught out, tensed up like a man already in his coffin. 

“Oh, well.”  _ Cough, “ _ I suppose I haven’t been very frugal this season.”

“Why?” Geralt’s voice was scratchy with drowsiness, and Jaskier tried desperately to understand what Geralt was feeling without having to look at his face. 

Jaskier was a  _ bard,  _ he could do this!

“Well, I suppose I wanted to do things for you in return for the experience of being your willful travel companion! Perhaps I wish to be more. . .useful.”

Jaskier could have hit himself in the head, he did  _ not  _ mean to in any way reveal how useless he felt. And yet, faced with Geralt’s lovely attack on his being, it suddenly came rushing out, and then it wouldn’t  _ stop. _

“Not that I think I don’t have my uses. I do have some skills, but my ability to talk doesn’t come in handy out in the woods killing monsters. I suppose I wanted to do more, be more of use to you.” Jaskier felt the desperation in his voice, and he in no way wanted to look Geralt in the eye for the rest of the week.

“Hmmm.”

And, well. 

Jaskier would have scoffed at the man’s total inability to speak, but he knew better. It certainly wasn’t Geralt’s fault he was so wordless, and it wasn’t Jaskier’s place to beseech the man for it 

But it  _ was  _ Jaskier’s place to interpret those ‘hmm’s and turn them into a semi-conversation. 

From Geralt’s tone, he got a rush of _ confusionconcernidon’tunderstand  _ —and Jaskier closed his eyes to think for a damn moment before responding.

“I suppose that my mood has been irrational these past weeks, I apologize for confusing you.” 

He heard, no  _ felt,  _ Geralt take a deep breath. Jaskier’s lungs tightened as he felt the warm air brush past the nape of his neck.

“You smell—Jaskier why do you smell afraid?” Well, that threw Jaskier for a goddamn  _ loop. _

“I—” he cut himself off. “I don’t fear you Geralt, I never will.”

Geralt pulled away behind him, and  _ gods dammit _ Jaskier had to  _ fix  _ this.

Jaskier turned and grabbed Geralt’s hand before he could roll out of the bed. If they were going to be in this confusing situation, it certainly wouldn’t be  _ Geralt _ leaving the bed.

“I think I may fear myself at this moment. None of this is due to you. . .I—”

“I don’t understand, Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice was soft and once again  _ concerned.  _

“I sometimes think that I am not enough— to be at your side.”

Jaskier breathed in shakily,  _ gods why were they even having this conversation.  _

Geralt’s eyes bore into him, bright with a strange emotion that Jaskier wasn’t even going to  _ try  _ and interpret because he was so tired and drained already. 

Then Geralt replied.

“When has that ever stopped you.”

And, well. Geralt wasn’t even  _ wrong.  _

Back when they first started traveling together, Jaskier had to fight to stay at the man’s side. Geralt had tried to ditch him in the middle of the night, but Jaskier was always a light sleeper or was able to guilt Geralt to not leave him behind in the middle of the thrice-damned woods. 

Jaskier never gave a  _ lick  _ about if he was enough for Geralt, he hadn’t cared, he would do anything to stay at the man’s side no matter what insecurities he felt. He was a bard who had no sense of shame, so why was he  _ doing this? Feeling  _ this?

Perhaps, just perhaps, these feelings were not ones of measuring up to the man, but being enough for the man he loved. 

And Jaskier, he  _ deflated _ .

Jaskier was a lovesick idiot who got into a cock measuring contest with other invisible suitors. 

“I—I think that I may be a fool Geralt.” Jaskier’s voice shook with something like relief.

Geralt’s thumb caressed along his forefinger where their hands were still intertwined between them. Geralt’s voice was teasing when he replied.

“No, you’re not a fool, Jaskier. An idiot, perhaps, but not a fool.”

Jaskier took it back, he no longer loved this man. He was a right  _ asshole.  _ ‘

When Jaskier squawked in an offended reply, the bastard just  _ laughed. _  
  


* * *

Jaskier felt lighter when they went back on the path. His head was clearer, and he no longer felt like he was dying, so that was good. 

Geralt didn’t act any differently, either. Jaskier didn’t know if this was a relief, or not. It was probably Geralt’s way of saying  _ ‘I’m used to your shit now, bard’ _ , which would hurt if it didn’t make him want to smile so much.

Now, when he performed in taverns, he met Geralt’s eyes and all he saw was Geralt's smug face with a soul of understanding. 

His smirk saying, ‘ _ and you thought you were useless _ ,’ as Jaskier commanded the crowd to applaud the ballads dedicated to the White Wolf. Even if the people threw stones at him just that morning. 

Suddenly, Jaskier didn’t care if he was enough for the man, Geralt was more than enough for him. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier: I'm not good enough!
> 
> Geralt: *visible confusion*
> 
> Thank you guys! Hope you enjoy the 6 chapter fic about two idiots communicating in every way but talking to each other.


	3. I trust you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier remembers that Geralt is an idiot 20 years too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little time jump in this chapter! It goes back to when Jaskier just started traveling with Geralt. Just to avoid confusion!
> 
> Wow, this one is longer, tho.

3: I trust you.

Jaskier, like many artfully inclined people, loves to dwell on the past. 

He remembered what people said to him, whether bits of gossip about a cuckolding Baroness or someone baring their soul to him in a drunken stupor. He remembered the faces of people he had met, the emotion in their eyes, the crinkle of their foreheads. He could imagine their faces as he closed his eyes and reminisced. 

When people told him things, he seldom forgot them. He held them in his heart and kept them there warm and precious. People were precious, and what was more precious than people sparing their words or their time? Jaskier didn’t think anything could be more fulfilling than sharing air with another. 

He loved people, he couldn’t help it!

But, like all great gifts one may have, they come along with curses. These curses are baked deep within the gifts. What better to hurt you than the thing you love, after all? A man could be great with a sword, but that comes at the price of needing to use it. A lady could have quick wit, which would more often than not cause great trouble for one who was too strong-willed under another’s thumb.

Jaskier remembered what others told him, but he remembered far too much for far too long. He knew people, but they seldom remembered or cared for him in return. He remembered what others had said to him in hurtful words when he would have rather forgotten and then moved on with his life. 

In this particular instance, Jaskier remembered what Geralt had said to him. It was easy to remember the things that Geralt said. With how seldom he talked, the words that  _ did _ escape his mouth were always of importance or interest. 

It was nearly two decades ago when Jaskier asked where Geralt wintered each year. Geralt, not one to be loose-lipped with important matters, had pushed him off with a solid ‘ _ none of your fucking business, bard _ ’.

The man was delightful as always.

He remembered the day that Geralt finally did tell him about Kaer Morhen, and it wasn’t a great one. Until it was.

* * *

_ Two years after the first meeting. _

Jaskier heard Geralt before he saw him. Heard the soft grunts, because even when in extreme pain the man kept his lips tighter than a. . . well tight. 

Jaskier was tuning his lute when he heard Geralt silently trudging up to the inn room. He was attempting to keep himself occupied despite the fact that his stomach was twisting in knots. He remembered the conversation with the alderman, Geralt accepting the meager payment with a twist in his mouth, the way his eyes flashed and his nostrils flared.

Jaskier knew that this hunt would mean danger. He had tried to talk to the man, but a silent side-eye told him to keep quiet and do what he was told. Jaskier was about to yell at the man for the scathing look, but even  _ he _ could tell it was not the time. 

So he sat on the bed in the inn, waiting. He knew that Geralt would return, even if he was off fighting a mating pair of fucking  _ wyverns,  _ and all he could do to help the man now was wait. 

Jaskier  _ loathed _ waiting.

Jaskier tossed his lute carelessly on the floor as he heard Geralt’s quiet, pained footsteps. He rushed to grab the medical pack on the floor, as he had a feeling it was going to be a rough night.

Geralt all but slammed the door open, and Jaskier would have had half a mind to get mad at the man if it wasn’t for the blood oozing through his fingers as he held his stomach. 

“Geralt! Fuck.”  _ Yes, fuck described this situation perfectly.  _ “Oh, Melitele's round bosom, get on the bed.”

Geralt’s eyes looked wild, wide with pain, and his face flushed red. 

“ _ Jaskier _ .” Geralt gasped. 

Jaskier flew into a flurry of activity. He grasped the med bag tightly into his hand. He helped Geralt limp over to the bed and as soon as he turned, he collapsed onto it. Jaskier removed Geralt’s hand from where it clutched his stomach, blood gushing through plates of armor, a deep red gash in the center. 

Jaskier swallowed thickly. 

He grasped Geralt’s jaw softer and more calm than he felt, getting the man to focus in on him. Geralt looked five seconds from passing out. Jaskier pulled his chin up until their eyes locked. 

“Geralt, did you take anything?” Jaskier pressed his hand to Geralt’s stomach to keep pressure, trying to stop the flow of blood. The witcher gasped in pain. 

“Kiss. . .” Geralt’s eyes were unfocused, his skin even paler than usual. 

“Okay okay, fuck, okay.” Kiss would stop him bleeding soon, he just had to keep him from losing too much. “Lay down.”

He eased Geralt onto his back. His armor would have to come off, so he began unbuckling the straps in haste. When he finally pulled the chest plate off, Geralt had closed his eyes, probably blissfully passed out. 

“ _ Gods _ Geralt. . .” His insides were nearly outsides, if he didn’t know the witcher’s sturdiness, he would be worried that the man would die from sepsis. 

He took a clean rag to start wiping off the blood, assessing the damage as he went. He knew that the man would need stitches, damn him, he hated doing stitches. 

He kept the rag pressed down onto the man’s wound, keeping pressure until the witcher’s potion could take effect to stop the bleeding. After a few moments of Jaskier’s panicked breathing of worry, he removed the bloodied cloth to find the wound had mostly stopped seeping bright red blood. 

After that he lost himself in the quiet repetition of stitches, willing his pulse to slow and his worry to somewhat fade. He knew in his mind that Geralt would be fine, but that didn’t make it any easier.

He was sort of glad that Geralt had passed out for this, it was easier than hearing his quiet huffs of pain. Jaskier hated how Geralt felt he had to hide his pain like no one could see him weak and vulnerable. In Jaskier’s opinion, if a man had a hole in his stomach, gods forgive let the man cry for once.

But instead, Geralt hid his pain, like he presented it wasn’t there he could remain stoic and ineffable. Jaskier thought it just made him irrational. 

Jaskier wiped down the wound one last time before grabbing the binding. As he covered the man’s wound he realized that this may have been the worst he had ever seen the man hurt. Geralt had never really passed out in front of him. It was only a small while ago that Geralt had even let him help with his injuries, much less passed out in front of him, letting him stitch the witcher’s wounds while he slept on none the wiser. 

His hands stilled, the breath caught in his throat. Maybe the witcher was coming around to him, after all. He got the impression that Geralt spoke more through actions than words, and while Jaskier was more of a words man himself, he still felt like he understood what Geralt was saying. 

Loud and clear. 

He finished wrapping up Geralt’s abdomen and covered him up with the bed’s sheer blanket. He had the feeling that he should wait for Geralt to wake, sitting by his bedside through the night. He knew, in his mind, that the witcher would be okay. That didn’t mean he failed to watch him breathe, slow and steady until dawn broke and light seeped through the cracks in the wood. 

He watched, chest tight, as Geralt’s breathing changed into wakefulness and his eyes turned to slits. Then, all of his muscles locked up and he stilled.

“Morning, Geralt.” Gods his voice was so  _ raspy. _

Geralt made a sound near groaning before opening his eyes and glaring at Jaskier. Jaskier, so relieved at the witcher finally being awake, forgot to be offended. 

Geralt moved to sit up, but after his abs twitched around the bandage, his arms fell out from beneath him and he landed back on the bed with a grunt. Jaskier was surprised his teeth were still intact with how hard he clenched his jaw. 

“How. . . How long—” Geralt’s voice was scratchy and low. Jaskier resisted the urge to run his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“You were only out for a couple of hours. The sun just rose and with it you!” Jaskier grinned, although he knew it must have looked empty, much like he felt. 

“Hmmm.” Geralt replied, which he felt was fitting for the man. 

“It’s a good thing you drank Kiss when you did, otherwise you would have bled out in my arms like a damsel.” His voice turned to a teasing lilt, perhaps to hide the fact that he was  _ very much scared of Geralt dying in his arms thank you very much.  _

Geralt’s brow furrowed and his hand reached down to his abdomen to where the bandages lay, hiding the fact that Jaskier saw pieces of his intestines last night. He traced the edge of the bandage, then locked eyes with Jaskier.

Geralt’s adam’s apple bobbed, and then slowly, nearly tenderly for him, he nodded to Jaskier in thanks. Jaskier knew better than to think that he would get a verbal response, so all he did in response was to give a real, bright grin. 

“We’ll have to sacrifice the sheets, unfortunately, the innkeeper will not be pleased in the slightest, but I have a feeling that she will undeniably fall under my charms. I will of course offer to perform for another night’s stay. We can’t have you traveling just yet, not while there is a hole in your stomach! Did you happen to notice that there is a hole in your stomach?”

“Jaskier.”

“Yes, my dear witcher?”

“Shut up.”

And perhaps Jaskier’s ears were deceiving him, but in those words, he heard  _ ‘thank you _ ’.

  
  


It was later that night when Jaskier, once collecting the witcher’s coin from the alderman (getting the full price after Jaskier had skillfully dropped some names), checking on Roach, and performing for another night stay, settled down with a still drowsy Geralt and decided to try his hand at some conversation.

He knew he wouldn’t get much out of the witcher, that was a given, but he figured bringing him up a glass of wine might loosen his lips. And, well, Jaskier wasn’t wrong. Or perhaps Geralt had felt particularly talkative for the first time since forever. 

Geralt sat by the bedside, silently (almost peacefully) cleaning and maintaining his blades. Jaskier idly strummed his lute, not really composing so much as trying to figure out how to initiate small talk with the witcher. He figured that in order to talk to Geralt and have him talk back, the small talk couldn’t be  _ small. _ In Jaskier’s experience, Geralt would respond more favorably to important topics.

So, less about court gossip, more about subjects close to the heart. Great, fantastic really! But what on the great continent did the witcher care about? 

Roach, Monster fighting. . .swords?

Jaskier could do better.

“Say, Geralt.” Jaskier began, and he nearly cringed at how his voice may have been too boisterous. Geralt paused momentarily in sharpening his sword but seemed to have a small facial twitch and surrender to having to converse with Jaskier. 

“Do you have any family?” Geralt did stop there for a moment. His hands clenched on where he repeated the movements of sharpening his sword against the stone. He seemed to consider the words for a moment before responding. 

“Depends.” 

Well, Jaskier could work with that. Depends on what? Jaskier was betting that he didn’t have a blood family, but he had people he considered to be his family. 

“Well, Melitele knows family doesn’t have to be by blood! Speaking from experience, my loving  _ family  _ doesn’t exactly act so familiar.”

Geralt considered his words for a second, and Jaskier felt that the witcher was trying to decide how much he wanted to tell Jaskier. Jaskier didn’t really want to pressure Geralt, he was a private man and though Jaskier wasn’t great about respecting privacy, he could certainly start to try for a certain witcher. 

“You of course are under no obligation to tell me! I know I’m probably being invasive, a bard never learns to mind his own business! In fact—” Geralt cut him off before he continued to ramble.

“Brothers. . . and a mentor. Other witchers. They’re family.”

Jaskier grinned.

“That’s wonderful! Just other members of the school of the wolf? Or other schools?” 

Geralt shrugged. Jaskier decided to interpret that as  _ ‘it’s complicated’. _

“Do you see them often? I imagine you wouldn’t cross paths often on this wide continent.” Jaskier set his lute down on the meager bed and leaned forward. This might have been the most amount of words he had ever been able to draw from the witcher. 

“We. . .winter together. The Kaedwen mountains hold a keep.” Geralt sounded even more hesitant, Jaskier was too excited to feel guilty for making the man talk. 

“You should introduce me to them sometime! I’d love to meet anyone who could put up with your grumpy behind.” Jaskier teased. 

Geralt locked up then, face stony. Jaskier suddenly felt like he had gone too far, but he wasn’t sure how. 

“No humans allowed.” Geralt ground out through gritted teeth and Jaskier was taken aback by the sheer malice in it. Jaskier, who thought himself proficient in reading the man's emotions was suddenly at a loss as to why he was suddenly so provoked, 

Jaskier swallowed as Geralt resumed sharpening his sword with much more forceful movements. 

“Alas, the ever tormented humanity,” Jaskier responded softly, awkwardly. 

After a few more moments of silence only broken by the sing of Geralt’s sword against the sharpening stone, Jaskier began to once again pluck halfheartedly at his lute.

* * *

  
  


Jaskier remembered all too well about how he would never winter with the man. Never meet his family, never get too close.

_ Never have his heart. _

Jaskier would be fooling himself if he thought that the witcher would ever let him get that close. But as time had passed, it got harder for Jaskier to remember those words, that no humans were allowed. Jaskier had a feeling that the statement expanded further than coming to Kaer Morhen. 

And, well, Jaskier tried to not hope that things had changed. Twenty years was a long time, after all, but was it long enough for a witcher?

  
  


His answer came not long after that, coinciding with the introduction to another witcher at last. 

Over the years, Geralt had loosened his tongue enough to let out a couple of names, names he had committed to heart. He knew the men Geralt considered his brothers, Lambert and Eskel, and then Geralt’s mentor, Vesemir. 

It was a couple of weeks after midsummer when Geralt entered a town,  _ scented  _ the air, and suddenly did something weird to his face that almost looked like a smile if one were to twist their head and squint. On Geralt, it was the equivalent of a huge grin, which was a little disconcerting because Jaskier had only seen that smile a couple of times in his entire  _ life.  _

“My dear witcher, what has your face etched in this strange. . . countenance.” Jaskier drawled, fascinated. 

To his great surprise, Geralt swung off of Roach, handed  _ Jaskier  _ the reins (to his beloved horse) and then took off into the market. Jaskier gaped without a shred of reservation, and not because Geralt had disappeared, but because Geralt seemed to think whatever was in this town was more important with Roach, and  _ that  _ Jaskier wanted to see. 

Jaskier took it upon himself to get Roach stabled, and when he did the damned horse did the weirdest thing. She  _ nuzzled  _ the horse in the stall next to her. The brave, daring, albeit rude, horse who would rather bite that gently caress, nuzzling a random mare!

Jaskier liked to think himself clever, and with the glaring clues left to him, he decided he didn’t need witcher senses to see why Geralt was acting so weird. 

He stood out in front of the other horse's stall, reaching for a sugar cube which he kept in his pocket for Roach. 

“So who do you belong to, hmm?” He held the cube out to them and they hesitated for a moment before gently lipping it out of his hand. “Lambert perhaps? No, no, I feel like if Lambert had a horse it would be an ass, You must be Eskel’s.”

The horse perked up at the mention of Eskel and Jaskier grinned,  _ jackpot. _

“I’ve heard he is the nice one, makes sense for his darling horse to be just as sweet.” Jaskier grinned and dared to pet the tip of their nose. “Farewell, sweet one, I must find my own dear witcher.”

Jaskier did in fact find his witcher, sequestered at the local tavern at a corner seat, in miraculous discussion with a brown-haired man who looked as kind as his horse. Jaskier knew that this must be Eskel, the only thing Geralt had ever said about him was the fact that he was kind, and he looked kind. 

Jaskier debated whether or not to interrupt them and introduce himself, but before he went too far into arguing with himself, Geralt locked eyes with him and tilted his head. Jaskier decided to take this as permission, not that he would need it, but well, Jaskier was polite, gods damn it!

Jaskier’s legs started moving before he made the conscious decision to do so, and before long he was pulling up the seat next to Geralt, directly across from Eskel. Eskel didn’t look startled, so that was good. Geralt had probably told him, or he used his witchery senses. 

“Hello! You must be Eskel, it’s wonderful to finally meet you!” Jaskier reached his hand out for Eskel to shake, hoping to all lords that he wouldn’t be too uncomfortable with conversation like Geralt was. He had had a long time to understand Geralt’s words without the need for words, he didn’t have that luxury with Eskel. 

And, for once, Jaskier was given a boon. Eskel reached out and shook his hand right back. He also smiled at him. Smiled!

“I suppose Geralt has spoken of me.” Eskel sounded surprised. Jaskier supposed that the man would be aware of Geralt’s. . . tied tongue nature.

“Not in so many words!” Jaskier replied, teasing. “But he did tell me that you were the kind one, so there was little chance of you being Lambert with that wonderful smile.”

Eskel’s mouth twisted at that, his lips turning down briefly before settling into an impassive line. Jaskier was confused because usually, compliments didn’t garner that reaction. . . well Jaskier really shouldn’t be surprised, he was a witcher after all. He had learned from experience that witchers often didn’t take well the compliments, and Eskel didn’t know him well enough to know he was sincere. 

Well, fuck. 

He looked to Geralt who locked eyes with him and jutted his chin out, perhaps a tiny nod. He could read the ‘ _ do what you will’  _ between the lines. 

He focused back in on Eskel, hoping to continue the line of conversation, and hoping more that he hadn’t made an ass out of himself before he did something to really warrant it. 

“Truth be told, I knew it was you before I even walked in! I was stabling Roach when she did the damndest thing, she nuzzled another horse! She seemed so happy that I knew it was another horse that she knew.” Eskel, to Jaskier’s great relief, seemed to be more invested in his words. “From how nice your horse was, I knew it had to be you.”

Eskel seemed to nearly take the compliment that time, and Jaskier took that as a much-needed win. He was no longer frowning to the same degree. Jaskier never wanted to make him frown again, not him nor Geralt for that matter. 

“Geralt has spoken of you some, bard,” Eskel replied, and Jaskier whipped his head around to stare at Geralt, who took the opportunity to glare at the table rather petulantly.

“He has, hasn’t he? I wonder what lies you’ve spread about me, my dear witcher. Perhaps the few disagreements we’ve had about my songs, hmm?”

“That’s because you fucking lie.”

“Artistic embellishment, Geralt, there’s a difference!”

“He mostly just talked about how steadfast you are, dependable, loyal perhaps.” Eskel cut in, nearly grinning now.

Both Geralt and Jaskier whipped their heads to him, Geralt in something like embarrassed anger and Jaskier in complete shock. 

“He said nice things about me.” Eskel nodded, Geralt glared.

“In between the grunts of ‘none of you fucking business’, yes.” Geralt glared harder. 

Something warm bloomed in his sternum, and he couldn’t help but let lose a small grin of satisfaction. 

“You don’t have to go through all this trouble of complimenting me Geralt, you can just say it to my face you know.  _ ‘Jaskier you have lovely hair.’ ‘Jaskier I appreciate you for keeping you from dying.’ ‘Jaskier you smell nice today.’  _ C’mon try it, it’s really not that hard!”

“Jaskier,” Geralt deadpanned. “You smell nice today.” 

“Wonderful! Was that really so painful?” Jaskier nudged him playfully. Geralt bared his teeth like a feral animal.

“Excruciating.”

Eskel looked between them as they talked, face blank and calculating. Jaskier saw him give a small  _ ‘oh’  _ out of the corner of his eye. Jaskier didn’t know if he should even try to interpret that.

“When are you going to bring the Bard around for winter, Geralt? He would definitely liven the place up.” Eskel interrupted their verbal sparring. 

Both Jaskier and Geralt stiffened then, both for the same and completely different reasons. Eskel certainly noticed the change and tilted his head in question. He looked to Geralt, confused, but Geralt was on the verge of looking like he’d never speak again.

Looked like Jaskier was talking for both of them here, then. 

“I was under the impression that there was a certain discouragement about bringing. . . humans up the mountain.” Eskel glanced at Geralt, who looked down at the table, probably never to look up again. 

Jaskier was at a loss here.

“Perhaps those who do not yet have our trust, that is a good way to get massacred at our doorstep.” Eskel reasoned. “But, Jaskier, from my understanding, you’ve been traveling with Geralt for two decades.”

“You estimate correctly.”

Eskel put his lips in a firm line, Geralt was still looking down at the table, most likely pretending he was anywhere else. 

“And yet.”  _ and yet here we are.  _

“Well, I suppose I’ve been waiting for Geralt to get around to asking.” Jaskier nearly shook with some emotion in his chest that felt like a vague mix of confusion and relief. “How foolish of me, waiting on Geralt to ask something.”

“A massive oversight on your part.”

“Yes, well, hindsight is always clearer, as they say.”

Eskel began rising from his seat, holding out a hand to Jaskier in parting. 

“I believe it is my time to retire for the night.” Jaskier shook his hand somewhat dazed. “It’s been nice to meet you Jaskier, I hope to see you again in the near future.”

The last part was pointed towards Geralt, Jaskier was still shaken out of his skin.

They sat in silence for a few moments, then a few more.

Jaskier tried to connect his thoughts, but all he could think was that Geralt could have invited him to Kaer Morhen all this time, but didn’t for some reason. Jaskier felt for a brief moment that perhaps Geralt didn’t appreciate his company, after all. 

Jaskeir had learned better than to jump to conclusions, though. 

He cleared his throat gently, but Geralt still nearly flinched. 

“Perhaps we should retire for the night as well, my dear witcher. You seem to be in great need of a bath, as well.”

Geralt, wordlessly and shuttered, got up from his seat and walked upstairs. Also silent, Jaskier followed. Jaskier always followed.

It was there that they found themselves later, Geralt soaking in the bath, Jaskier staring at the wall. Geralt characteristically silent, Jaskier uncharacteristically so. 

“So, my dear witcher, I believe we should have this conversation sooner rather than later.” Jaskier sighed, letting his gaze fall to the other man.

Geralt lips pressed in a certain line that let Jaskier know he was going to be doing most of the talking. 

“You want to winter with me, do you not?” Jaskier questioned. “I promise I won’t be offended if you don’t. I never have been.”

Geralt looked to the door, avoiding Jaskier’s gaze, before jutting a chin out to nod. 

Something like relief filled Jaskier then, but he still wanted to know so much more than that. 

“Why did you never ask me?” Geralt shrugged in response, and well, that was Jaskier’s fault for not sticking to yes or no questions. 

Geralt probably didn’t even know the answer to that question.

“Were you ever going to ask me?” Geralt stared at the water surrounding him for a few moments. 

Then he sighed and hung his head in surrender, Jaskier chose to interpret this as  _ ‘I wanted to.’ _

“Do you trust me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked before his mouth could catch up with his brain. Geralt’s head shot up again. “Eskel said that only one’s they could trust wintered with them. Do you trust me?”

Geralt rose from the small basin and stepped over the edge, Jaskier politely averted his eyes, but it was harder to do so when the witcher walked directly towards him, nude as the day he came kicking and screaming into this world. 

Geralt stopped before Jaskier’s seated position on the bed. He reached out and grasped Jaskier’s hand, and his breath caught in his throat. Slowly, tentatively, Geralt placed Jaskier’s hand on his chest, directly over his  _ heart.  _

Jaskier could feel it beat, slow and sure. His own pulse raced and he felt faint and flushed. 

And, well, Jaskier understood, loud and clear. 

“I’m not going to Oxenfurt this year, Geralt.” Jaskier’s hand was still on Geralt’s chest, resting there like it belonged. 

Geralt just hummed, low and sure. 

A few moments later, the world came back to normal. The spell was broken and Geralt turned away from him once again, finding his own clothes to cover up. Jaskier could still feel Geralt’s phantom heartbeat in his hand. 

And then, like they did most nights, they fell asleep next to each other and never spoke of it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your comments, even if they're bad!

**Author's Note:**

> I must say, from the number of google searches I made during writing this, I never expected "What sounds do horses make?" to be one of them.


End file.
